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Runyan 

I  want  a  woman  with  a  soul, 
and  other  poems 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


/  Want  a  Woman  With  a  Soul 

and  Other  Poems 

By  ARTHUR  LESTER  RUNYAN 


Copyrighted  1919 

By  A.  L.  RUNYAN 
Omaha,  Neb. 


PS 

3  £3  5 

.   L 

A  VISION  OF  YOUTH 


As  I  am  riding  along  on  a  Northwestern  line, 
A-watching  the  fields  with  their  crops  so  fine, 

The  farmers  at  work  in  the  early  morn, 

A-mowing  the  hay  and  plowing  the  corn, 
And  the  children  on  their  way  to  school 
Are  wading  in  a  shallow  pool. 

The  cattle  feeding  in  the  pastures  green 
Is  one  of  the  grandest  sights  I've  seen. 
And  it  takes  me  back  to  boyhood  day 
To  a  little  farm  in  Iowa; 

Back  to  that  grove  of  maple,  where  we  used  to  swing  for  hours, 
Back  to  the  woods  along  the  stream,  where  we  gathered  teacher  flowers, 
Back  to  those  fields  of  clover  and  the  gentle  waving  corn, 
Back  to  the  dear  old  farm,  the  place  where  I  was  born. 

Years  have  passed  since  those  days  and  my  hair  has  turned  to  grey, 

But  I  would  give  most  anything  to  be  a  boy  today, 

To  hear  the  bells  a-ringing  as  the  cows  come  home  at  night, 

To  be  a  boy  among  the  boys  and  fly  a  long-tailed  kite. 

To  hear  the  robin  and  the  lark  as  they  sang  their  songs  of  love, 
To  hear  the  chuckle  of  the  squirrel  and  the  cooing  of  the  dove, 
To  get  up  early  in  the  morn,  when  the  air  was  fresh  and  cool, 
We'd  take  our  books  and  dinner  pails  and  scamper  off  to  school. 

And  when  the  day  was  ended  and  we  were  home  once  more, 
We'd  find  our  mother  waiting  in  that  same  old  kitchen  door. 
When  supper  it  was  over  and  the  chores  had  all  been  done, 
We'd  have  a  game  of  some  sort  —  Yes,  those  were  days  of  fun. 
Bat  youth  has  flown;  old  age  is  here,  and  I  am  bending  at  the  knee, 
But  it  does  me  good  to  see  such  sights,  for  I  know  the  life  is  free. 


Copyrighted  and  Published  August  10, 1911 


759766 


A  MONUMENT  TO  A  NATION'S  BROKEN  HEART 


I  stood  at  the  top  of  the  great  Eiffel  Tower, 

And  gazed  o'er  the  city  of  Paris, 
The  sun  sank  at  rest  in  the  golden  west 

And  the  atmosphere  was  fairest. 

I  watched  the  lights  as  they  shone  so  bright 

In  the  depths  of  the  river  Seine, 
And  the  arch  of  triumph  erected  there 

That  honored  soldiers  slain. 

I  thought  of  the  streets  that  once  flowed  with  blood, 

Until  it  nearly  made  me  swoon. 
I  could  hear  the  groans  of  the  dying, 

As  I  looked  on  Napoleon's  tomb.  4 

I  thought  of  his  suffering  army  on  the  trip  from  old  Moscow, 

Of  the  soldiers  starving,  freezing  in  that  deep  and  bitter  snow, 

Of  the  city  all  in  ashes,  of  the  families  that  had  fled, 

Of  the  soldiers  that  were  dying  and  those  that  were  left  dead, 

Of  that  once  grand  army  all  in  rags,  with  their  hands  and  feet 

so  bare  — 
And  I  wondered  if  Napoleon  had  heart  enough  to  care. 

I  could  see  him  at  Waterloo,  when  he  gave  the  fatal  order. 
When  horse  and  hero  rushed  to  death,  just  across  the  border. 

I  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  cannon,  as  it  fired  off  its  load, 

I  could  see  the  fate  of  the  Cavalry,  as  they  reached  the  hidden  road, 

I  could  hear  the  cry  of  the  soldiers  that  never  got  across, 

I  could  see  Napoleon  weeping,  when  he  realized  he'd  lost. 

And  I  thought  of  those  wives  made  widows,  when  the  news  had  reached 

their  ears, 
I  could  hear  the  moans  of  sweethearts,  and  see  the  children  all 

in  tears. 
And  I  thought  of  the  hearts  he'd  broken,  of  the  money  he  had  spent, 

And  the  Isle  of  St.  Helena  where  he  finally  was  sent, 
And  I  wondered  why  they  brought  him  back  and  built  that  tomb 

of  Art; 
Unless  it  was  a  monument  to  the  Nation's  broken  heart. 


Copyrighted  and  Published,  April  6,  1911 


TIME  HAS  MADE  ME  SAD 


Time  has  made  me  sad  for  it  has  robbed  me  of  my  Youth, 
And  separated  me  from  Home  where  I  was  taught  the  Truth. 
It  has  robbed  me  of  a  Mother  who  was  noble,  kind  and  true, 
That  loved  to  teach  her  children  the  proper  things  to  do. 

Methinks,  I  hear  her  reading  those  same  old  stories  through 
And  telling  us  when  we  grew  up  what  she  would  like  to  have,  us  do. 
At  times  I  hear  her  calling  bedtime  and  breakfast  boys 
And  my  heart  is  filled  with  sadness  in  the  place  of  boyhood  joys. 

I  see  her  in  the  garden  with  her  snow  white  locks  so  fair, 
Among  the  roses  pink  and  red,  that  always  blossomed  there. 
I  think  of  mother  li ving  and  those  dying  words  I  heard  her  say : 
"My  Son,  we'll  surely  meet  again  beyond  the  great  white  milky 
way." 

'Tho  Time  has  had  no  mercy  and  has  gone  a  mighty  pace 
But  I  never  will  forget  the  smiles  on  dear  old  mother's  face. 
I  miss  those  good-night  kisses  and  the  prayers  she  used  to  say. 
And  I  would  give  up  health  and  fortune  to  live  with  her  one  day. 


Copyrighted  and  Published,  April  6, 1911 


NOTHING'S  TOO  MUCH  TROUBLE  FOR  A  FRIEND 


Nothing's  too  much  trouble  for  a  friencf;  for  a  friend  that's  your  friend, 

Not  for  what  you  have  to  lend,  but  a  friend  that's  your  friend 
When  you  need  a  friend. 

The  friend  I  mean  is  the  kind  of  a  fellow, 
When  you're  down  and  out  that  won't  turn  yellow, 

But  will  pick  you  up  and  say  "Old  scout, 
Right  about  face,  this  way  out," 

And  he'll  help  you,  shoulder  arms  to  fight, 
That's  the  kind  of  a  friend  that's  right. 

For  a  friend  like  that  you  can  slave  and  toil, 
He's  worth  more  to  you  than  standard  oil. 

For  a  friend  that's  your  friend, 
N  ot  for  what  you  have  to  lend,  nothing's  too  much  trouble. 


Copyrighted  and  Published,  March  1,  1913 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE 


r 

I  know  my  life  is  ending,  for  my  heart  is  beating  slow, 
But  I  want  to  speak  a  word  or  two  before  I  have  to  go. 

I've  lived  a  life  of  sorrow,  a  life  of  scarlet  shame, 

But  if  you  knew  the  circumstance  I*m  sure  you  wouldn't  blame. 
My  father  was  a  drunkard,  and  was  drunk  most  all  the  time, 
And  mother  died  and  left  us  when  I  was  just  past  nine. 

I  struggled  hard  for  bread  enough  for  myself  and  little  Ben, 

But  he  was  taken  with  a  fever  and  died  when  I  was  ten. 
And  when  they  laid  him  in  his  grave  I  covered  it  with  sod, 
And  knelt  there  and  prayed  for  strength  to  the  Almighty  God, 

To  help  me  live  a  life  free  from  sin  and  vice, 

For  I  was  all  alone  in  a  world  as  cold  as  ice. 
Then  for  months  and  years  I  toiled  until  I  was  seventeen, 
I  was  the  picture  of  my  mother,  and  as  pure  as  any  queen. 

But  one  day  a  villian  who  claimed  to  be  a  man 

Said  he  would  protect  me  and  love  me  for  my  hand. 
Day  after  day  he  came  with  those  same  sweet  words  of  love; 
He  called  me  his  Lily,  his  Venus,  and  his  Dove, 

He  sang  me  songs  of  love  till  my  heart  beat  fast  within, 

Apd  I  threw  my  arms  about  his  neck,  for  I  dearly  worshipped  him. 
He'd  lavished  love  upon  me  until  I  gave  my  heart  away, 
Then  he  brought  me  to  this  place  and  I've  been  a  White  Slave  until 
today. 

We  got  here  in  the  evening  —  I  would  say  perhaps  'twas  eight, 

And  I  wondered  if  my  love  for  him  could  ever  turn  to  hate. 
He  said,  "Wait  here,  my  Darling.   My  Venus  never  fear, 
For  I  will  get  the  license  and  bring  the  preacher  here." 

But  ere  the  clock  struck  nine  he  had  returned  with  lunch  and  wine. 

He  said  that  he  was  sorry  but  the  court  house  it  was  closed, 
And  he  couldn't  get  the  license  until  tomorrow,  he  supposed. 
But  he  said,  "You  mustn't  worry,  nor  allow  yourself  to  fret, 

For  you  and  I  will  be  as  one  before  tomorrow's  sun  has  set." 
So  we  ate  our  lunch  together  and  everything  was  fine, 

And  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  my  lips  were  stained  with  wine. 

And,  after  I  had  drunk  it  my  brain  was  in  a  whirl, 
And  before  the  sun  had  risen  I  was  a  ruined  girl. 

When  I  awoke  I  found  he'd  left,  that  he'd  broken  every  vow; 
"  And  I'd  pierce  his  heart  with  a  dagger,  if  I  had  him  here  right  now. 
You  ask  what  made  those  bruises,  and  those  scars  upon  my  breast; 

Why,  I've  been  kicked  and  pounded  the  same  as  all  the  rest. 

Oh!  if  you  but  knew  the  suffering  of  girls  in  all  such  places, 
I'm  sure  you'd  publish  far  and  wide,  for  they  are  National  Disgraces. 
But  do  you  think  St.  Peter  will  admit  me  to  the  place 

Where  I  can  meet  my  mother  and  Bennie  face  to  face, 

Or  will  he  say,  when  he  knows  my  life  of  shame, 
"We  cannot  have  you  here,  girl,  for  you  were  all  to  blame." 

Copyrighted  and  Published,  August  10th,  1911 


• 


iSffl// 


I  WANT  A  WOMAN  WITH  A  SOUL 


Were  you  ever  out  on  the  Western  Plains, 

With  nobody  —  but  the  boys; 
And  your  heart  just  longed  for  a  home  of  your  own, 

With  a  wife,  some  kids  and  their  toys. 
For  a  home  of  your  own  where  the  grass  is  green 

In  some  shady  little  nook, 
With  her  as  your  queen  and  you  as  her  king, 

And  the  children  your  laughing  brook. 
When  you've  followed  the  herd  for  days  and  days, 

Through  the  dust  and  blinding  heat 
And  you're  stiff  and  sore  from  your  hat  rim  down 

To  the  soles  of  your  aching  feet. 
And  the  horse  you  ride  is  tired  too 

You  can  feel  it  in  every  step. 
You  do  not  mind  it  while  he's  fresh, 

But  when  he  tires  you  lose  your  pep. 
And  the  food  you  get  is  not  the  kind 

That  mother  used  to  make 
id  you  swear  the  poorest  cook  on  earth 

Is  that  fellow  Sagebrush  Jake. 
I've  ridden  the  ranges  for  fifteen  years 

And  I'll  tell  the  world  it's  hell 
To  never  hear  a  woman's  voice 

Or  the  ring  of  the  old  church  bell. 
I've  seen  the  leaves  come  out  in  May 

And  dry  up  in  the  Fall  ; 
I've  watched  the  birds  mate  up  this  Spring. 

And  I  guess  I've  heard  their  call. 
So  I've  sold  my  cattle  and  said  goodby 

To  the  boys  of  the  open  air, 
And  I've  money  enough  to  buy  a  home 

And  support  a  woman  fair. 
But  I  want  a  woman  that  wants  a  home 

As  bad  as  I  want  one, 
That's  willing  to  enter  the  valley  of  death. 

For  a  daughter  or  a  son. 
That's  the  kind  of  a  woman  I  want 

And  I  want  her  on  the  square  — 
I  want  a  woman  to  be  my  pal, 

Like  the  boys  of  the  open  air. 
"or  they  are  as  true  to  you 

As  the  needle  to  the  pole, 
And  I  want  a  woman  of  that  sort, 

A  WOMAN  WITH  A  SOUL. 

Composed,  March  23,  1919 

Commodore  Hotel  N.  Y.  City 


THE  INVITATION  OF  A  DOLLAR 


If  you  care  to  see  the  world,  just  take  a  trip  with  me, 

For  I  have  the  passport  to  any  land  or  sea. 
I'm  as  welcome  as  the  sunshine  to  merchant,  peasant,  queen, 

And  there  isn't  a  city  in  the  whole  land, 
That  I  haven't  sometime  seen. 

I've  been  in  every  known  game  from  dominoes  to  chess, 
And  if  you'll  take  a  trip  with  me  I'll  show  you  all  the  rest. 
I've  made  the  Kings  bow  down  to  me, 
And  pick  me  up  with  care,  and  wipe  the  mire  from  my  face, 

And  kiss  my  silvery  hair. 
Many  a  beggar  I  have  ifed,  that  didn't  have  a  cent. 

I've  been  lost,  borrowed,  stolen  and  lent. 
I  know  the  paths  of  the  underworld  with  their  sin  and  crime  and  gore, 

You'd  think  that  I'd  be  tired,  but  I  want  to  travel  more. 

I'm  not  alone  in  this  old  world,  I've  millions  of  relation, 

And  if  you  care  to  see  the  world,  accept  my  invitation. 

For  as  long  as  I  am  with  you,  I'll  always  be  your  friend, 
For  I'm  A  Silver  Dollar,  and  will  be  to  the  end. 


TO  THE   STORK 


Long  live  the  Stork, 
The  Bird  of  Joy 
That  brings  us 
Either  girl  or  boy. 

That  makes  no  choice 
Of  rich  or  poor; 
That  he'll  arrive 
You  may  be  sure. 


Dedicated  to  the  American  Boys  who  fought  and  fell  with  the  Canadian  Forces. 

HE  FELL  WITH  HIS  FACE  TOWARD  BERLIN 


America!  America!  And  all  you  represent, 

The  day  is  not  far  distant  for  your  stupor  you'll  repent, 

You're  the  land  of  my  forefathers,  the  home  of  my  birth, 

No  grander  a  country  on  God's  given  earth; 

And  yet  —  I  leave  your  shores  in  disgust  and  join  the  Canadians 

To  fight    for  what  you  claim  you  are  —  ftlBERTY. 

I  hear  the  call  of  downtrodden  Belgium  and  bleeding  France, 

The  cry  of  mutilated,  starving  children,  the  moans  of  outraged 

Womanhood,  I  see  Washington  and  La  Fayette  before  the  Goddess  of 

Liberty,  begging  her  support,  I  hear  the  voice  of  Lincoln  calling 

You  to  arms  to  save  Democracy.    I  see  you  in  your  slumber  dreaming 

All  is  well,  while  all  about  you  the  fiends  of  Autocracy  are 

Planning  your  destruction  and  I  can  stand  the  strain  no  longer.. 

So  while  you  slumber  I  will  go, 

And  pit  my  life  against  your  foe, 

And  if  I  live  to  get  a  Hun 

I've  done  my  duty  as  your  Son. 

But  you'll  awake  from  out  your  trance 

And  pay  the  debt  you  owe  to  France. 

And  when  you  reach  the  firing  line, 

Alive  or  dead,  I  still  am  thine; 

If  I'm  alive,  with  you  I'll  be 

If  I  am  dead  — ETERNITY. 

And  if  perchance  you  find  the  spot 

Where  I  have  fallen  weep  you  not  — 

Just  put  up  a  stake  and  tack  on  a  tin, 

"He  fell  with  his  face  toward  Berlin." 


WEST 


TEL 


UNION 

AM 


NCWCOMB  CARLTON.  »I»IDIMT  GEORGE  W.  E.  ATKINS.  riHT  VICI-rnuiDINT 


RECEIVED  AT 


AKRON,  OHIO,  April  2,  1917. 

UNCLE  SAM, 

Washington,  D.  C. 
Care  of  Congress, 

Dear  Uncle  Sam :  If  you  ever  drew  the  sword  to  beat  a  foe, 

Why  do  it  now,  and  call  the  Boys  and  off  to  France  we'll  go; 

Let's  plant  the  Stars  and  Stripes  upon  the  fields  of  blood-stained  sod, 

And  show  the  World  that  we  are  for  Humanity  and  God. 

I  know  how  hard  that  you  have  tried  to  keep  out  of  this  thing, 
But  when  they  murder  your  Children  and  then  go  away  and  sing, — 
"We  never  did  nor  do  not  now,  want  any  war  with  you, 
"And  will  not  have,  if  you  will  stand  for  anything  we  do." 

There  never  was  a  time  in  the  history  of  your  Life, 

When  you've  had  as  just  a  cause  for  to  join  a  bloody  strife: 

And  remember,  Dear  Uncle,  that  France  sent  LaFayette, 

So  now,  in  Her  dark  hour  of  need,  you  can  pay  up  that  old  debt. 

And  the  sooner  that  Congress  gives  you  a  helping  hand, 

The  quicker  will  the  crowned  heads  go,  and  the  People  rule  the  land. 

Congress,  please  let  Uncle  go. 


The  above  telegram  was  sent  night  letter,  April  2nd  to  Uncle  Sam. 
Congress  let  him  go  on  the  5th  and  he  arrived  in  France  on  the  13th. 
Notified  LaFayette  he  was  there,  and  the  crowned  heads  disappear 
ed  Nov.  11,  1918. 


HERE   I  AM,  BOYS,  BACK 


Did  you  ever  meet  a  woman,  boys, 
That  just  made  your  blood  race  wild 
With  hair  as  black  as  a  raven 
And  features  as  sweet  as  a  child? 

When  a  glance  from  her  eye  or  a  smile  from  her  lips 
Would  make  every  nerve  in  you  creep, 
And  she  looked  so  like  an  angel 
As  she  lay  there  fast  asleep. 

Dressed  in  a  Chinese  costume 
From  her  head  to  her  dainty  feet, 
Why  boys,  I  can't  describe  her, 
There's  no  words  half  so  sweet. 

I've  ridden  the  ranges,  blazed  the  trail 
And  with  the  savage  fought; 
I  wanted  a  woman  with  a  soul  * 
And  she  was  the  one  I  thought. 

But  she  laughed  at  me  and  my  western  ways 
And  one  day  when  she  answered  the  'phone 
She  said  "Here's  your  coat  and  your  hat  A.  L., — 
My  husband  will  soon  be  home." 

Well,  I  felt  like  a  wolf  on  the  prairie 
That's  sneaking  here  and  there. 
When  I  found  she  had  a  husband, 
And  I  in  his  home  and  chair. 

So  here  I  am  boys  —  back, 
Back  on  the  River  Maw, 
And  I  guess  that  I'll  be  satisfied 
To  take  myself  a  squaw. 

For  you  know  the  law  of  the  ranges 
Is  to  be  on  the  square  and  aloof 
And  I  couldn't  stand  the  feeling 
Of  a  sneaking  prairie  wolf. 

When  I  sold  my  cattle  and  said  goodby 
I  had  a  handsome  roll, 
But  I  spent  it  on  a  woman, 
And  one  without  a  soul. 


Composed  on  the  9th  day  of  May,  1919,  Onondaga  Hotel, 
Syracuse,  New  York 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


*»H«R 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A8105)444 


PS 


Runyan  - 


3 535   I  want  a  woman 
R86?i  with  a  soul. 


SEP  2  4  1953 


PS 

3535 
R86?i 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


001  248  702    1 


